


Some Nights

by jenny_wren



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Fluff, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-02
Updated: 2015-08-02
Packaged: 2018-04-12 12:14:45
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,944
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4478876
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jenny_wren/pseuds/jenny_wren
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Kink meme for canon Les Amis behind closed doors.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Some Nights

“Oh thank God,” said Enjolras as the door finally clicked shut behind the last of their visitors.

“Don’t you mean thank the Supreme Being?” Grantaire grinned mischievously.

Enjolras attempted a glare but it was really more of a pout, “Do not start with me R. I thought that wretched Hugo man was never going to leave.”

Already crumpling from his Burning Angel of the Revolution pose, Enjolras now looked like an exhausted university student who’d spent one too many nights cramming for exams. The rosy flush of argument had leached from his face leaving his skin almost grey. His careful golden curls were flat and bedraggled and he impatiently dragged them away from his face.

Grantaire clucked his tongue, “That won’t do. Come here, love.” Enjolras obediently loped over and collapsed in a heap at his feet. With gentle hands, Grantaire drew the limp hair back and deftly knotted it in place with a tie pulled from his pocket.

Enjolras made a muffled sound and rubbed his cheek against Grantaire’s knee in thanks.

Marius forced himself not to stare. He still had trouble with the fact Enjolras and Grantaire expressed their affection for each other in such a Greek fashion but it was affection, he was sure of that. There was nothing brutal or beast-like in the attentions they paid one another and they never showed an interest in anyone else.

Courfeyrac had laughed when Marius tentatively asked about it. 

“I’m not even sure they’d know how,” he’d said.

From what Marius had observed this was more than accurate and it was gradually becoming one of things that just was. A fact that, while true, had no direct impact on Marius’ life. Except that sometimes Marius was fiercely glad that Enjolras had somebody to support him when that burning zeal faltered.

Like now, Grantaire’s fingers were working firmly against Enjolras’ head and neck and the fine lines of strain etched across Enjolras’ face slowly faded.

“You alright if we let the ladies in, Ange?” Courfeyrac asked.

“Mmph,” agreed Enjolras, still not interested in speaking after a long evening of declamatory speeches, and waved one hand forward to indicate Courfeyrac should go ahead.

Courfeyrac opened the side door that none of the visitors to the ABC used and in came the eleven maison women who’d been waiting in one of the smaller rooms.

Marius hadn’t really understood that either for a long time. At first he’d been dismayed his new friends were associating with loose women, then, curious and wanting to fit in, he’d offered them money – only for Courfeyrac to slap his hands down and apologize to the women.

“Sorry ladies, forgive him, he’s young and foolish.”

Marius bristled all over. Courfeyrac turned on him,

“And you, stop insulting our guests.”

“But,” Marius gestured at Feuilly who was already cozied up to one of women in a very intimate fashion.

“They’re _friends_ ,” said Courfeyrac. “If one of ladies wishes to spend time with you, that is her, and your, decision. But you do not _pay_ friends.” There was enough scorn in his friend’s voice that Marius but his money away, fell silent, and sat back down. 

He watched more carefully after that and realized Feuilly always sat with one particular woman, found they lived together, were putting money aside to buy a little business, and were not intending to get married.

“B-but,” Marius stammered.

“I don’t want a King, why would I want a Master,” said the woman.

“And why would I want to be a Master,” said Feuilly and they both smiled. So they sat together and plotted their little economies and counted up their coins to the last sou while they dreamed of independence and Enjolras gnashed his teeth that he could not just give them money. He’d regularly to offer to invest in their business but gave up when Feuilly politely requested he stop asking for the sake of their friendship. Feuilly was probably the only person to ever successfully out stubborn Enjolras. 

But lately Marius had noticed that Grantaire had started to lose badly at piquet, particularly when he was playing against Feuilly. And Grantaire did all Enjolras’ dirty work.

Bahorel too had his favorite woman; he would comb out her long dark hair and then peacefully braid it while she quietly sang plaintive country airs. They claimed to be nothing more than acquaintances but when she got sick last winter he moved her into his lodgings, badgered Combeferre and Joly into visiting every day to check on her, and sold his new coat to buy her medicine.

Joly and Bossuet always sat with the same woman, flirting extravagantly enough for the Old Nobility and somehow relaxing out of their nervous twitches of hypochondria and bad luck. It was only after seeing them teasing each other and the woman that Marius realized how anxious they were over the Revolutionary meetings. Until then it hadn’t occurred to Marius that their meetings were dangerous. It would, obviously, be embarrassing if they were arrested, but it wouldn’t be bad, not like that.

He hadn’t wanted to talk to Courfeyrac about it, hadn’t wanted to his friend to think he was a coward, so he had gone to Grantaire, who looked at him with his old, sad eyes.

“You’d probably be alright, your Grandfather’s connected and even if you aren’t talking at the moment, he’ll come through for you. Jehan’s family could probably get him out. Feuilly, they might not care enough about. The rest of us,” he shrugged his shoulders. “Enjolras, well, if it gets to that point they won’t risk a trial. Too much of a set-piece for our Demosthenes.” 

Grantaire shrugged again, clearly uninterested in anything that might occur past the point where Enjolras was quietly disposed of in the dark.

Marius shivered, unable to believe it could come to that.

Combeferre never showed much interest in the visitors. Keeping the formal meetings on track seemed to use up all the man’s sociability and he would collapse back in the armchair in a grump hunch of shoulders. The alcohol he’d consumed without apparent effect would hit all at once and nothing more would be hear from him except the occasional window-rattling snore. And, yes there – Enjolras had shifted away from Grantaire’s legs and gestured emphatically towards his friend. Grantaire sighed heavily but clambered to his feet, dragged the blanket off the back of the old broken-down sofa, flipped it carefully over Combeferre tucking it in at the edges before staggering back to Enjolras.

“He should go back to his lodgings,” said Grantaire without making any more effort to achieve this than he ever did.

Enjolras glumphed, and after Grantaire collapsed back in their chair, clawed his way up Grantaire’s legs to settle on his lap.

“You’re heavy,” Grantaire complained as he wrapped his arms around him.

Jehan and Courfeyrac were the only ones who ever had any energy left. A small clump of women gathered around Jehan as they discussed Shelley and Wollstonecraft in fierce angry voices. Marius had never been brave enough to even think about joining them. The fury that howled around them was as wild and hot as the desert winds. If he got too close he was sure it would strip all the flesh from his bones.

Courfeyrac, on the other hand, was getting down to business with his women. They brought their account books, leases, and licenses to him and he dispensed legal advice as a doctor would medicine. In the morning he would accompany any that had need to the police station and give them a man’s supportive arm while they dealt with officialdom. He would even drag out the De in his name for the aristocratic edge it gave them. In return they fussed over him like sisters bringing him sweetmeats and darned shirts.

Marius usually joined him, enjoying feeling useful, but today he was worried for two of his other friends and he crossed the room quietly to take a seat by Enjolras and Grantaire.

“Enjolras, you seemed unusually, uh,” and then he sort of stumbled to a halt because he could think of no polite way to say Enjolras had ripped savagely into Grantaire hunched sulkily at the opposite side of the small table to the point Marius had almost combusted from sympathetic embarrassment.

“Yeah Enjolras, you seemed unusually, uh,” teased Grantaire, which at least showed he wasn’t too affected by the vicious treatment handed out by his friend.

“Do not talk to me,” said Enjolras huffily.

Grantaire laughed.

“I think the Hugo man was impressed though,” Marius offered.

“I should hope so too,” said Bahorel joining in the conversation, his voice a soft rumble. “I was impressed. I didn’t even know some of those words.”

“Yes,” Courfeyrac paused in his totting up a column of figures. “Whatever came over you Ange? Usually you and R work together like a well matched team, what made you decide to kick over the traces? Have you quarreled?”

“Not yet,” said Enjolras ominously.

Grantaire laughed again.

“So?” asked Marius curiously, because Courfeyrac was right, usually Enjolras and Grantaire worked together playing idealist and cynic, saint and sinner until their victim was tangled helplessly between them and submitted to Enjolras’ will, choosing the angel over Grantaire smiling devil. 

“You’re too young to know,” Grantaire told him cheerfully.

“Oh my God,” said Courfeyrac.

“What?” asked Bahorel, then he blinked a couple of times. “Truly? R are _trying_ to provoke Enjolras into killing you.”

“Only a little death.”

Enjolras growled in frustration, “I am going to strangle you.”

“Is that a promise, Apollo?” Grantaire’s voice had gone low and husky.

“Not in front of the children,” cried Courfeyrac as he abandoned his quill to dash to Marius’ side and place his hands over Marius’ ears.

Marius pulled away and shook his head, “I don’t want to know.”

“Think about where they were sitting,” advised Feuilly. “The table’s not that big. Where would Grantaire’s feet be if he put them up?”

Marius glanced at the table. It really wasn’t that big. There was no space for Grantaire to put his feet up because, “They’d be in Enjolras’ lap.” 

“Exactly,” said Feuilly heartlessly.

“Wait.” Marius could feel his eyes growing big and his jaw dropping, “No!”

“Oh yes,” said Enjolras sourly. “It’s amazing I was able to string a coherent argument together.”

“Hey,” Grantaire was grinning fit to split his face, “you’re the one who kept talking to that Hugo man. And he was looking at you like he wanted to eat you.”

“Well you’ve had your fun. Now you get to pay for it.” Enjolras wriggled in a very deliberate fashion and Grantaire gasped.

“No, no,” said Courfeyrac, “you need to get your fun without terrifying Marius.”

“I’m fine,” said Marius, mentally calculating how quickly he could retire

“No you’re not. You’re trying to work out how soon you can leave. Our two reprobates can leave instead.”

“I’m too tired,” whined Enjolras.

“If you’re recovered to be sassy with R, you’re recovered enough to go home and be sassy without any unfortunate witnesses.”

“Fine.” Enjolras heaved himself to his feet. “Come on Grantaire,” he smiled with vicious sweetness, “let me show you my appreciation in private.”

“Ooh, sounds like someone’s in trou-ble,” Courfeyrac sing-songed.

“I know,” Grantaire bounced to his feet, “isn’t it great.”

 

Marius sighed and shook away the memories. Leaning down he picked up the book that had fallen from his lap and straightened the pages. He supposed that Hugo man had got close enough when everything was said and done. If nothing else then somewhere beyond this dull world Grantaire was enjoying teasing Enjolras about it.


End file.
